


Lucky

by idelthoughts, pipsqueak119



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3741844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipsqueak119/pseuds/pipsqueak119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The biggest unsolved mystery facing the NYPD?  Henry Morgan's love life.  There's a lot of cash piling up in the office betting pool, and someone is going to win big--if they can just get a few details out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place pre-1x16, before Henry's reconnection with Molly Dawes/Iona Payne. Because...well, he's not a monk.
> 
> This was a joint project, with each of us working up sections, and then throwing it all together!
> 
> Special thanks to IreneClaire for acting as our amazing beta!

 

His father had predicted this.  
  
Henry had always had an eye for women. Or rather, women had always had an eye for him. It was one of the few sources of contention he and his father had ever had.  
  
“You must forego these sorts of dalliances, Henry,” his father had counseled. “Consider your medical career, your marriage prospects, your reputation.”  
  
But Henry wouldn’t hear it. After all, he was a young man, with the appetite of a young man and relatively few other vices. Why shouldn’t he indulge in the pleasures women so freely offered him?  
  
Oh, his father had warned him that he would rue his folly one day. And after 235 years, today was that day.

 

* * *

 

He awoke with a strand of blonde hair tickling his nose and a pleasantly warm body tucked up to his side, head resting on his chest. He opened his eyes, looked at the pale orchid walls, the ruffled curtains, and knew instantly his mistake. He'd stayed the night. And on a weeknight.  
  
Judging by the sun filtering through the blinds, it was just about 8:00 a.m. He heard the honks and squeals of rush hour traffic rising up from the street. Counted one, two, three consecutive buses. Oh, hell, that many buses in a row made it closer to 8:30.  
  
"Bloody gin," he groused as he tried to quietly slide free from the bed. This was why he'd given up drinking in the first place. Not that the evening hadn't been pleasant. It had been more than pleasant. But it was always the morning after that was the problem.  
  
The woman opened hazel eyes at the loss of her makeshift pillow. "Good morning," she sighed, then slid from the covers herself and pulled on a robe. "Let me make you some breakfast." She walked over to where he was tugging on his pants and kissed him lightly on the nose. "I'm sure you're starving after last night."  
  
"I'd .. ah... love to stay, really," he stammered, frantically shoving his shirt tails into his trousers, "but I'm afraid I've not the time. I'm going to be late for work."  
  
Her eyes flew open. "What time is it?"  
  
"8:35"  
  
"Oh my God! I'm going to be so late…” She turned to her closet, started throwing clothes onto the bed. "Let's see, black slacks, white button down, where are my kitten heels?"  
  
Henry ducked as a shoe came flying over her shoulder. "I hate to ask, because I can see you're in a rush as well, but may I borrow your phone? I need to call my roommate and let him know I'm still alive."  
  
She pointed to her phone on the nightstand. "Help yourself. Password is 1985."  
  
He tied his shoes, then grabbed the phone and dialed Abe.  
  
It didn't take more than a few rings before Abe answered with a concerned, “Hello?"  
  
"Abe, I'm alright. It's just, well, I met... and we..."  
  
"Henry!" Abe's tone lightened significantly. "Ooh, you forgot to leave? Must have been a good night there, loverboy."  
  
"Abraham," Henry began with as much parental gravitas as he could muster while knotting his tie. "I'll thank you to show a little respect. I just wanted to inform you that given the time, I am going directly to the morgue."  
  
"Ah, no.  You're not, actually.  Jo called. They found a body on the tracks over at Penn Station. They need you down there pronto to give it the once over before they can clear the body and get the subway back in service. I bet the rush hour trains are backing up something awful."  
  
"Right, Penn Station. On my way." Henry hung up before Abe even had a chance to say goodbye. He shrugged his jacket on over his vest, grabbed his burgundy scarf and replaced the phone on the nightstand.  
  
The sound of a blow dryer running came from the bathroom. Henry raked his fingers through his morning curls and considered making a run for it. But despite all current appearances to the contrary, he was raised to be a gentleman. So he poked his head in the bathroom doorway and gave his most charming smile.  
  
"Thank you for a very pleasant evening."  
  
She clicked off the dryer and returned his smile. "Right back at you."  
  
"And thank you for the use of your phone this morning. By the way, your password—1985—what does it stand for?"  
  
Pink roses flushed her cheeks. Oh, she really was lovely, he thought. In his pocket, he fingered the card with her number. She'd slipped it to him over their second round of drinks, before the evening had run away with them both. Maybe he'd call and they could get together for just one more evening. He'd take her to dinner perhaps. There couldn't be too much harm in that.  
  
"It's my birth year," she answered.  
  
Henry groaned silently, dropped a soft parting kiss on her lips. "Until next time."  
  
"Next time," she agreed, clicking the blow dryer back on as he made his way out the apartment door.

 

* * *

 

Jo wasn’t a morning person.  If she made it to an early morning crime scene on time, she was willing to call it a win.  Hanson knew her well enough by now to know that if she arrived with a coffee cup in hand, they were good.  If she didn’t have time to get the coffee, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant morning, and he knew to give her a minute before launching into the case details.  
  
She’d secured her coffee this morning thankfully, as the scene was a gruesome one.  She hated jumpers—always a mess, and never a happy ending.  That, and the MTA were always breathing down their necks to wrap up the investigation so they could get the trains running again.  
  
Which they could do, if Henry would ever get here.  
  
Just as the thought occurred to her, she saw Henry trotting down the stairs to the platform at a hurried clip. He flashed her a harried smile before petering to a stop next to her.  
  
He looked...wow.  He looked like hell.  
  
Well, that was uncharitable.  Henry’s version of hell was a bit above the usual daily standards of most people, but he was certainly outside the realm of his usual spit and polish.  
  
She looked over his outfit.  Yeah, that was definitely the same as yesterday.  She remembered that tie, thinking that she’d never seen that particular shade of pinkish red in a man’s wardrobe before. Salmon. How did he pull off a color like salmon? Anyway, definitely the same, the whole ensemble the same. And that hair—man, Henry had really curly hair when he let it do its thing.  
  
The guy looked like he’d been out all night and just rolled up from the party.  
  
Henry peered over the edge of the platform and nodded, and his scarf shifted enough that she could see the side of his neck. An unmistakable dark spot, just the right size and shape for—  
  
_Oh my god that’s a hickey._  
  
If it were anyone else, she would have started ribbing them right away, but with Henry?  To be honest, she was almost scandalized.  Didn’t stop her from breaking into a grin, though.  Good on him, the guy was wound so tight half the time she thought he’d snap one day.  
  
“Yes, I see,”  Henry said briskly, taking in the scene before him.  “Well, let’s have a look.  Do we have a name?”  
  
Henry looked back at her and caught her eyeing his hair again, which seemed set on defying the laws of gravity.  He raised an eyebrow as though daring her to say something, and she just took a sip of her coffee with as much innocence as she could muster.  Henry turned from her and hopped down off the platform onto the tracks towards the smudge that was their victim.  
  
Hanson was at her side, and he looked down at Henry crouched over the victim.  
  
“We think she might've been pushed,” he called down to Henry.  “Scuff marks from her shoes on the edge of the platform, and witnesses said she was jostled and off balance before she went over.  ‘Course people were out of here and looking for their next method of getting to work on time before the whole thing even finished going down, so nearby witnesses are a little thin.”  
  
“The beating, empathetic heart of a busy city,”  Henry returned, gently turning the woman’s body over so he could see her face.  
  
Hanson fell quiet a moment, and Jo could see him squinting at Henry.  He glanced at Jo.  
  
“Is it just me, or—”  
  
Jo elbowed him in the ribs.  
  
“Hush, you,” she said quietly.  
  
Hanson’s eyes lit up at her implicit confirmation of his suspicions.  
  
“No way.  Doc finally got lucky?”  
  
“Mike, you leave it.”  
  
Jo wasn’t about to let Hanson have a go at Henry right now.  Maybe later, but let the poor guy get himself decent first.  Henry might have made his first impression by calling her on her all-nighter, but she was going to have a bit more class than that.  For now, anyway.  
  
“You’re no fun, you know,”  Hanson grumbled.  
  
“Speaking of a beating heart, I believe our culprit is rather more mundane.”  Henry called up, and when they looked down at him he gestured to the body.  “Heart attack.  Though I’ll have to confirm with some blood tests, I believe she was already dead by the time she fell onto the tracks.”  
  
“How can you tell that?”  Hanson asked.  
  
“Bluish skin coloration around the nose, mouth, and extremities,” Henry said, first indicating her face and then lifting a hand to show them her fingers.  “The trauma is extensive as a result of the train, but I’d say she was experiencing cyanosis well before her collapse.”  
  
A call came from down the subway platform, and Hanson went off to check on the uniformed officer waving him over while Jo stuck behind with Henry.  Henry tossed his bag onto the platform and climbed back up, straightening and resetting his clothes into tidy order after the activity.  
  
Or, as tidy order as his wrinkled shirt was going to get.  And that hair—oh, that hair.  She couldn’t resist any longer.  She’d been waiting for nearly a year to get one over on Henry.  Forget the higher ground, she owed him a little bit of a hard time for that crack so long ago.  
  
“So, good night?”  Jo said casually.  
  
Henry lifted his chin, tipping his head as though he were considering her question, and then with a pleased and definite nod, made an affirmative noise.  
  
“Yes, an excellent one, thank you.”  
  
She waited for more, but his cocky grin was unrelenting, and she rolled her eyes and knew she might as well give up.  Of course Henry wouldn’t embarrass so easily.  The man was unrepentant in everything he did.  She’d wager he’d have rather kept his private life private, but he seemed pretty comfortable with himself when it came down to it.  
  
“Rosalinda Gaspar,” Hanson said, coming up to them waving a battered leather wallet in his gloved hands.  “The MTA guys pulled her purse out from under the train.  I’ll get the unies on contacting family, see what we can find out.”  
  
“Excellent,”  Henry said with a nod.  “Be sure to have them inquire if Mrs. Gaspar had any known heart conditions or other medical problems.”  
  
“Will do.”  Hanson paused, and scanned Henry over once more, and then made a faintly disgusted noise.  “Couldn’t’ve held out one more month?  Man, that kitty was getting big, too.”  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  Henry said, blinking at the out of context statement.  
  
Jo’s mouth dropped.  Oh no, the _betting pool_.  She’d forgotten about it, since her date had long since passed months ago and she was out of it, having lost her ten dollars.  She’d been pretty sure Henry wasn’t the kind of guy who’d hold out that long before dating somebody, but he’d either been tight-lipped and sneaky, or more celibate than a priest. She was going to go with the first, given the way he managed everything with a precision that bordered on obsessive.  But as far as anyone could tell, there hadn’t been anyone.  He hadn’t even called the dominatrix back, despite the fact she’d been ready to roll if Henry gave the word.  
  
But apparently Henry _could_ turn up having rolled out of bed with someone, and have one of those mornings just about everyone had once in a while.  Nice to see Henry was human like the rest of them.  
  
“Oh geez.  You didn’t know?”  Hanson looked gleeful and about ready to rub his hands together. Jo turned around and slugged him in the arm.  “Ow!” he squawked.  “Come on!  I assumed he knew!”  
  
“Care to enlighten me?”  Henry said politely, with a bit of an edge.  
  
“Well, uh…”  
  
Now that Hanson was getting the impression that Henry was less amused with playing this game than he was, he looked tongue-tied.  Jo wasn’t planning to rescue Hanson from his own folly, but when he shot her a pleading look she caved.  
  
“Everyone was starting to wonder when you’d get yourself a girlfriend, so there was a friendly bet circulating in the precinct.”  
  
Henry pursed his lips, and much to her relief, a faintly amused smile graced his expression.  She waited for something, but there was no response.  
  
“So, if you’ve got anything you’d like to share…”  Hanson said leadingly, hands in his pockets.  
  
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,”  Henry said brightly, and Hanson perked up with interest.  Henry leaned closer, and in a conspiratorial tone of voice said,  “I’ll have the results of my blood tests on Mrs. Gaspar by this afternoon.”  He raised an eyebrow at Hanson.  “Since it appears to be relatively slow at the precinct these days, I’m sure we can have the results quite quickly.”  
  
With that, Henry turned and trotted back up the stairs.  
  
“Goddamn it,”  Hanson complained.  “I should have known he wouldn’t make this easy.”  Jo punched Hanson in the arm again, and he flinched.  “Ow!  Stop that!”

 

* * *

 

Leaning back in his chair, Lucas savored the last few sips of his peppermint mochaccino, along with the last few pages of the latest _Soul Slasher_. Lunch break was over; time to get back to the salt mines. He closed the issue with a deep sigh, spun in his chair as he swung his legs off his work table and caught a glimpse of Henry coming down the hall.  
  
Something was wrong. Lucas stared hard as his boss approached the morgue’s glass double doors. No, not wrong. Right. He checked his Fitbit for the time and date. Very, very right.  
  
Dr. Henry Morgan was rumpled. Lucas rubbed his hands together and grinned. The Doc was _never_ rumpled. With a delighted sigh, he jumped up from his workstation to greet Henry at the door.  
  
“Have fun playing doctor, Doctor?” Draping a lanky arm across Henry’s shoulders, Lucas chuckled at his own joke.  
  
Henry frowned and continued marching towards his office. With his every step deeper into the morgue, stunned silence washed away the normal buzz of activity, only to be replaced by an excited whisper as his co-workers checked their watches and calendars.  
  
Henry studiously ignored all of it. Head held high, he turned on his heel at his office door. “Have you pulled those samples from Mrs. Gaspar yet, Lucas?”  
  
“Ah, just about to get started on that.” Lucas turned a weather eye on Henry, trying to gauge the other man’s mood. For a guy who’d just gotten laid, he certainly didn’t seem to be rocking the afterglow.  
  
But Henry had to be. Just look at his hair. It was tousled and curly. Rumpled, tousled, curly. And smelling of perfume? Lucas waved a cupped hand behind the shorter man's head, catching a lingering hint of musk and possibly jasmine.  
  
That was definitely the same tie the Doc had been wearing yesterday too. Lucas had heard Jo compliment Henry on it. He rolled his eyes at the memory. She'd said it was salmon, but to an auteur such as himself, it was clearly coral, which had a touch more orange than pink.  
  
Still he had to be sure and there were other pertinent facts that had to be ascertained. If there was one thing he’d learned from Henry, it was that you had to be precise in all your details before drawing any conclusions. But he needed to tread carefully here or the good doctor might revert back to his usual silent treatment. Lucas lowered his voice, whispering conspiratorially, “So, ah, mano a mano, tell me—”  
  
Dr. Washington interrupted their conversation by stepping between the two men. The older M.E. looked his nemesis up and down, his gaze lingering for a moment on a dark spot on Henry's neck.  
  
Lucas's eyes widened. Holy broken capillaries—was that a hickey? Cha-ching!  
  
With a disgusted snort, Dr. Washington slapped $10 at Lucas’s chest as he walked away grumbling, “Son of a bitch couldn’t have waited another day?”  
  
Lucas stuffed the money into the breast pocket of his lab shirt, glancing over at Henry, who was staring at him with narrowed eyes. “He, ah…,” Lucas jerked a thumb at Dr. Washington’s back. “I, ah… le-le-lent him some money for lunch yesterday. Bu-bu-but let’s not talk about me.” He shot Henry a hopeful grin. “She was hot, wasn’t she? Like smokin’, right?” He wagged his eyebrows and nodded.  
  
Henry’s scowl deepened. Wordlessly he stalked into his office.  
  
A sudden thought stopped Lucas dead in his tracks, the door swinging shut in his face. He gulped, gathered his nerve and shuffled into Henry’s office. “If, ah, if… she, uhm... was a she. Or, ah, he? ‘Cause that would be OK too, you know. If he was a he.”  He flashed Henry a wan smile, then winced as the other man’s lip started to curl. Oh, not good. Not good. “Or ah, she. Or whatever. It’s all good.” Lucas’s voice rose to the same alarming pitch it’d had in his first year of high school. “Either way, some... some... somebody’s going to win the betting pool.”  
  
“Lucas!” Henry bellowed, slapping a fresh pad onto his clipboard and frantically scribbling.  
  
A small part of Lucas’s brain was intrigued that the normally unflappable M.E. could get so rattled from a little attention on his extracurricular activities. Man, he really had to get this guy on film. There was a great horror-erotica story in here somewhere….  
  
He was brought back to reality by the slam of Henry’s clipboard being dropped on the edge of the desk.  
  
“There,” Henry pointed at the list he’d written. “Those are the tests I want run on Mrs. Gaspar’s samples. Make sure you check— oh, bloody hell.” Henry left Lucas hanging as he answered the ringing phone with a jab to the speaker button. “Doctor Henry Morgan speaking.”  
  
“Doctor,” Lt. Reese’s no-nonsense tone filled the office. “I’ve just been discussing this morning’s case with Jo and Hansen. They tell me you’ve got some theories on our subway vic. Care to join us and discuss them?”  
  
“Theory, not theories.” Henry braced himself with his arms on the desk. “Just one. I suspect that Mrs. Gaspar died from a heart attack, rather than suicide or being pushed. We’re running tests now that should confirm this, but I’ll need some time for the results to come through.” He checked his pocket watch, then ran a hand over his wrinkled trousers with a grimace. “Give me 90 minutes. I should be ready to see you then.”  
  
“It’s a date, Doctor. That is, if you think you’ve still got the energy.” Lt. Reese signed off with what sounded to Lucas very much like a giggle in her voice.  
  
The other man closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “She’s in the pool, isn’t she?” Lucas opened his mouth to answer but Henry just waved him away. “No, never mind. I do not want to know.”  
  
He picked up the clipboard, handed it to Lucas and started walking. “Now for these tests, make sure you check the CK, Tnl and TnT levels in her blood. If they’re abnormally high, then we have a heart attack victim. If not, well, then it’s a very different story. I, ah, need to run out for a bit, but I'll want those results as soon as I get back. Understood?"  
  
“You got it, Doc.” Lucas followed after Henry, but his progress was impeded every few steps by people thrusting bits and bobs of cash at him.  
  
Henry gave an exasperated sigh. “Is there anyone here who is not in the pool?”  
  
Lucas shrugged. “Well, you know what they say, Doc. ‘You gotta be in it to win it.’” He pocketed the cash and met Henry at the morgue entrance. “I’ll have these results ready for you in 90 minutes, don’t worry.”  
  
“Thank you." Henry turned to go. Which is when Lucas saw it. A long strand of gold.  
  
He plucked it off the back of Henry’s jacket and held it up for observation. “Blonde!” he announced.  
  
A collective groan rose up from the losers. “We still don’t know gender,” someone whinged.      
  
“Not a problem,” Lucas crowed. “I just read about this new DNA test that only takes 85 seconds and has a 100% accuracy rate.”  
  
Henry turned and glared at his assistant from the doorway.  
  
“Ah, actually Henry told me about that test…,” he headed for his work station, “which I’ll run just as soon as I get Mrs. Gaspar’s results.”

 

* * *

 

“I kind of liked the au natural look,” Jo quipped, leaning on the lab bench as she watched Henry.  
  
He looked at her askance, and she pointed to her head, indicating that she was talking about Henry’s hair.  Henry rolled his eyes heavenward with a look like he was gathering strength.  
  
“Oh, don’t take it so hard,” Jo said with a smile.  “We joke because we care.  You’re officially part of the NYPD family now.”  
  
“I believe I had plenty of hazing when I was—”  Henry cleared his throat, rocking on his toes and then returning to the microscope, “—when I was in medical school.”  
  
Jo had the distinct impression he’d switched tracks somewhere in the middle of that thought, but knowing Henry, she wasn’t any more likely to get the truth of that out of him than she was the story of his previous night.  
  
She was a little disappointed.  Not that she wanted ice cream and pyjama party gossip with Henry about his exploits, but she figured they knew each other well enough that she’d get a little something.  She couldn’t blame him for not feeding the masses and their obsession with resolving the rest of the pool bets, but they’d worked together a lot.  She’d probably talked with Henry more than anyone else in her life lately.  
  
And wasn’t that saying something?  Maybe she should stop worrying about Henry’s personal life and think about her own.  She really needed to get out more.  Not that she’d met anyone recently she’d consider dating material, but—  
  
“Detective?  Jo?”  
  
Henry was standing with a slide in his hands, looking as though he’d been trying to garner her attention for some time.  She tried to casually shake off her distracting thoughts and focus on her work.  
  
“Sorry.  What?”  
  
“As I suspected, the blood work indicates that Mrs. Gaspar was indeed the unfortunate victim of a heart attack.  No murder or suicide, merely a case of poor cardiac health and bad timing.”  
  
“Well, that solves that.”  She could wrap this up quickly, maybe even head home on time today.  
  
Henry was already tidying up his bench, and since she’d seen him last, he’d gone home to change and tidy himself up, too  Was this a one-time thing, or did Henry have himself a girlfriend?  Not a serious one, if he didn’t have a change of clothes at her house yet.  But if Henry did have a girlfriend, would he ever tell anyone?  She doubted it.  Probably nobody would know until one day he showed up with a ring on his finger, and not before.  
  
“So, plans tonight?” she asked, keeping it casual.  “Anything exciting going on?”  
  
His heavy sigh was audible.  
  
“A quiet evening in, I think.”  
  
“Fair enough, you’re probably tired out.”  
  
He shot her a dirty look and she put on her best charming smile.  Seriously, she’d interrogated mob suspects who were less tight-lipped than Henry.  
  
“I’ll send up Mrs. Gaspar’s autopsy report by this afternoon,”  Henry said formally and with a chagrined tone.  He left her to go and arrange for the body to be returned to the fridge bank, a clear dismissal that she was willing to take, figuring she’d needled Henry as far as she could without really irritating him.    
  
The case of Henry Morgan’s night out was as closed as that of their heart attack victim.  However, this case was likely to remain a mystery.

 

* * *

 

Henry’s shoulders sagged in relief as he made his way to the precinct’s entrance. It had been one of the longest days in his memory, which made it very long indeed.  
  
He'd finished up Mrs. Gaspar's autopsy report, as promised, and even hand-delivered it to Jo as a minor peace offering. He knew she was just as intrigued as the rest of the precinct about his indiscretion and he appreciated her keeping Hanson and the others at bay. He didn’t so much mind the ribbing of his colleagues—truth be told he rather liked being part of the team—but experience had taught him it wasn’t in his best interest to encourage any further curiosity surrounding his personal life.  
  
He tucked the tail of his cadet blue scarf into his coat, relishing the thought of relaxing on the settee with Byron’s _Don Juan_ and a nice glass of Chateauneuf du Pape, then stopped short, almost tripping the uniformed officer behind him.  
  
He’d left his other scarf in his office when he’d rushed home to change earlier. It was his lucky one too, the burgundy paisley that never failed to elicit an admiring glance from the female sex.  
  
At that realization, he took a sharp right turn to the elevators. Thankfully, the morgue would be relatively empty at this time of the evening. Most of the day shift would have left and the night shift would probably be on dinner break.  
  
Whistling a bit of Handel’s _Water Music_ to himself he sauntered into the morgue, only to be greeted by the sight of Lucas standing at his work table. The boy was utterly oblivious to his surroundings, focusing instead on sorting and counting stacks of bills.  
  
“I take it you won the pool then?” Henry relished the small start his assistant gave at the sound of his voice. At least that was a bit of his own back.  
  
“My money’s always on you, Doc," Lucas deadpanned, then abruptly stopped counting. "Why are you back here anyway? No more tests to run. Thought you'd have been long gone by now."  
  
Henry raised an arm in the direction of his office door. "I just stopped back to pick up my scarf. I neglected to take it in my haste earlier." He went into his office, scanned it, then grabbed his scarf off the back of his leather desk chair where he’d dropped it earlier.  
  
"Wow, you forgot your scarf?" Lucas asked without looking up as Henry passed him, focused on counting again. "This chick really must have been something else. Does she have a sister?"  
  
Henry rolled his eyes and groaned. He’d had just about enough of playing "20 Questions" for one day. “Good night, Lucas.” He closed the conversation with a firm wave and made for the elevators.  
  
Halfway down the hall, his steps slowed. He looked towards the elevators, then back to the morgue. A thoughtful finger ran over his scruff-covered chin. If his co-workers were going to turn his indiscretions to their advantage, why shouldn’t he?  
  
Grinning widely, he double-timed it back to Lucas’s workstation. Eyeing the piles of $20, $10 and $5 bills for a moment, he reached past the younger man and neatly halved each of them.  
  
“Hey,” Lucas swept the remaining stacks to his chest and hugged them tightly, “you already got lucky. Now it’s my turn.”  
  
“Flowers, Lucas. Women love flowers.” That was something he'd learned long ago, and it was still true. Despite all the changes he'd witnessed between men and women through the centuries–from women's suffrage to the sexual revolution to feminism–he found flowers still worked.  
  
Which was why he kept a standing account with Starbright. Pacing back to the elevators, he made a mental note to phone the shop as soon as he got home and order a large bouquet of sweet peas. She probably wouldn't realize that they meant “thank you for a lovely time" but he would know. Pity that Victorian flower language had fallen out of fashion. It had helped him gracefully extricate himself from more than one sticky situation.  
  
He punched the call button and the elevator started its descent from the main floor. His stomach rumbled, a sharp reminder that he'd best hurry home to Abe and dinner.  
  
Dinner. He considered the bills in his left hand and did some quick calculations.  
  
His colleagues had been generous with their wagers. A fact he needed to remember the next time they invited him to a poker night. For now, though, there was probably enough to cover a nice meal along with the flowers.  
  
He nodded to himself as he tucked the bills into his coat pocket and entered the elevator as its doors opened. Yes, he’d send her flowers, then call and ask her to dinner. Maybe at Janoon, his favorite Indian place on West 24th. That usually earned him some brownie points for being both elegant and unexpected.  
  
And then? He grinned even wider as he considered what he might get for dessert. But on a Saturday. Definitely a Saturday.

 


End file.
